𝐁𝛐𝐮𝐧𝐝 𝐛𝐲 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐎𝐜𝐞𝐚𝐧 | Nikolai Lantsov

1 | 𝐓𝐡𝐞 𝐓𝐞𝐦𝐩𝐞𝐬𝐭 𝐖𝐢𝐭𝐡𝐢𝐧

𝐀𝐦𝐨𝐫𝐚

I could hear the echoes of Ketterdam fading behind me as I stumbled onto the creaking boards of a ship. My heart was pounding, each beat a desperate cry for survival. The acrid smell of smoke and the unmistakable hint of firepox still lingered in my mind, a terrifying reminder of the chaos I’d narrowly escaped. As I forced my tired legs onward, something in the shadows of the Hold caught my eye.

Just then, a pair of heavy footsteps approached, and I quickly ducked into the nearest hiding spot—a storage compartment, barely large enough for my small frame. I held my breath, trying to steady my racing heart and listen. The footfalls stopped, and I could hear voices arguing above me.

“Let me go! I can handle myself!” A girl’s voice rang out, sharp and fierce.

“Not happening, Tamar. You know they’ll kill you if they find out,” replied a calm voice I could only assume belonged to her twin brother, Toyla.

Curiosity clawed at me, and I shifted just enough to afford a glimpse. They were twins—both with dark hair and similar sharp features. Were they here to hunt me down? Or were they mercenaries with a prize catch? I had no way of knowing, but I couldn’t afford to make a sound.

Moments later, the noise escalated, and both twins swept past my hiding spot, tearing through the cabin with an urgency that belied their earlier conversation. It wasn’t long before I was yanked from my hiding place—a powerful arm wrapped around my waist, lifting me effortlessly from the compartment.

“Who are you?” the girl demanded, her grip tight enough to hurt. Her eyes sparked with determination.

“I’m nobody,” I stammered, voice trembling as adrenaline surged through my veins. “I just… I needed to escape.”

“An escapee? Our kind of trouble,” the brother muttered. They exchanged glances, clearly weighing their options. The two of them dragged me—still confused and slightly terrified—up the narrow staircase to the main deck.

The sunlight hit me like a splash of cool water, a stark contrast to the dingy gloom of the Hold. All around, men and women were busy at work, adjusting sails and calling orders, but my attention was drawn to the figure at the centre, leaning casually against the ship’s wheel.

He was strikingly handsome, with an air of mischief about him. His clothes looked expensive, tailored in a way that suggested he was not a mere sailor, but neither did he give off the scent of nobility. “Sturmhond,” I overheard someone call him, and I couldn’t help but think the name held more weight than they let on.

“I wanted to talk to you about—” the girl began, but the privateer interrupted, directing his gaze at me.

“Ah, a stowaway. I take it she’s in your way?”

“Not exactly,” Tamar said, her annoyance still palpable. “She’s bad news. Just got away from that firepox outbreak.”

Sturmhond’s eyes narrowed. “Is that so? You’ve just traded one danger for another, my dear.”

“You think I wanted to?” I exclaimed, suddenly defiant. “I was practically chased out of Ketterdam by the flames! Do you think I chose to end up here?”

He studied me, a slow smile creeping onto his lips. “Bravery or desperation, I’m not sure yet, but it’s certainly an interesting mix. What’s your name?”

“Amora,” I replied, feeling a strange sense of calm wash over me. Something about his demeanor—a blend of charm and authority—made me want to trust him, even in the shadow of uncertainty.

“Well, Amora, welcome aboard the The Volkvolny—not a pirate ship, mind you, but a privateer vessel, perfectly legal in her business dealings,” he stated with a flourish, gesturing around as if he were showcasing a grand estate.

“And what does that mean for me?” My voice cracked, a blend of sarcasm and fear. “Am I just another one of your catches?”

Sturmhond chuckled, “Oh, you’d hope to be so lucky. We’re no ordinary crew, and I’m no ordinary captain. Let’s just say that trouble is our currency, and we find ourselves in plenty of it.”

Before I could answer, the ship shuddered. I sensed the crew tensing, and the atmosphere shifted from casual banter to palpable tension. Sturmhond’s charm faded as he turned his attention to the horizon where a dark silhouette approached—the outline of another ship.

“Battle stations!” he bellowed, his voice carrying authority that rang clear over the chaos. “Prepare cannons and ready the crew!”

The twins instantly took action, springing into commands and rallying the crew. I could feel adrenaline surge through me, making my heart race. I had involuntarily joined this chaotic band of privateers, and though the fear of fire still lingered in my mind, the thrill of the unknown caught my breath.

“Can I help?” I shouted above the rising clamour.

“Stay below deck!” Sturmhond ordered, but I grit my teeth and shook my head.

“No! I need to prove myself. I can’t just sit and wait for trouble to find me.” I clutched the railing, steel determination replacing my fear.

He paused, hand poised over the wheel, his expression a mix of surprise and admiration. “You’ve got spirit. Very well. Follow the twins—and whatever you do, avoid getting shot.”

“Yes, Captain,” I responded, and the urgency began to transform my fear into adrenaline-fueled courage.

As the ship roared to life around me, I found myself on the forefront of a scene I had only ever read about in stories. Polarized by uncertainty, I assisted Tamar and Toyla—the twins, guiding sailors, unloading powder, and preparing for the conflict.

Then came the boom. The opposing ship’s cannons fired, and I braced against the railing as the ship rocked violently. The sky darkened, and suddenly, we were engulfed in a storm of cannon fire and the salty spray of the sea.

With every command Sturmhond barked, I felt like I was being woven into the fabric of this crew I barely knew yet strangely belonged to.

As the skirmish continued, I fought alongside each member of the crew, adrenaline coursing through my veins. They had become my shield, my protectors. I had transformed from a runaway fleeing the flames into a vital part of a storm that carried both uncertainty and thrill.

Just as I dared to believe that we could defeat them, chaos erupted—a direct hit sent splintering wood flying, and I felt a sharp pain at my shoulder. I stumbled back but caught sight of Sturmhond rushing towards me, eyes blazing with intensity.

With urgency, he pulled me behind him, guiding my trembling frame against the ship’s side as the sounds of chaos enveloped us.

“Stay down and hold on!” he commanded, his voice firm as he returned fire, but I couldn’t be still.

Instinct kicked in. I grabbed a nearby musket, fueled by desperation and newfound courage as I aimed at the enemy ship, almost mirroring Sturmhond's own actions. I fired, the shot echoing through the storm like a battle cry of my own.

In the aftermath of the shootout, we emerged victorious—nature roaring in applause as silence fell. Sturmhond turned to me. “Good work, Amora. You’ve got the makings of a fighter,” he said, a hint of pride lacing his tone.

But all I could feel was the weight of my decisions pressing down. I hadn’t just fled the fire. I had stepped into a tempest, full of actions I couldn’t have anticipated. I was under the banner of Sturmhond, who likely had secrets deeper than the sea.

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